


His Name's a Goddamn Word Salad

by sammys_lover



Series: October writing challenge '19 [22]
Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice musical - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Beej taking care of you, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunk Reader, F/M, Fluff, Halloween, Hangover, He's good husband material, I have never had a drink in my life, I'll marry him so Lyds doesn't have to, Idc what you say, Idk but i love him, Jeetlebuice, Short, am too YOUNG, dumb, smashed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 15:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21138953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammys_lover/pseuds/sammys_lover
Summary: Inspired by a dumb thing I accidentally said irl when trying to talk about the Beetlejuice musical!





	His Name's a Goddamn Word Salad

You stumble into your living room, not making it further than the sofa before collapsing. To say that you'd had a little too much to drink is an understatement. You're lucky to have made it home in one piece!

You're laying on your back on the couch, kinda dizzy, kinda sleepy, kinda horny. Maybe, you wonder, you should summon up the demon you've been seeing. He's cool, (to the touch. He's dead, so the cold might help with your head) and he knows that you're always up for him coppin' a feel.

You groan, squinting at the ceiling as you tried to sort out your words to summon him. He's- you know the one. He's cute, (kinda) he's really gross, eats bugs...beveragebee. no. Fuck. Uh-

"Jeetlebuice!"

Your first shout of his name normally rises some sort of reaction. (If he wasn't already home) A chill in the room, a breeze, a feather-light touch that makes it through the veil...something. This time, there was nothing.

You open your mouth to slur, again, "Jeetlebuice?"

Nothing. Huh. Maybe he's just playing hard to get?

"Jeetlebuice!!"

You're expecting the usual fanfare! Colored smoke! Tiny explosions! A witty, inappropriate one-liner!

There's nothing. Absolutely nothing. The apartment is still and silent. But it's cold, so what does that mean?

Little do you know, "jeetlebuice" is cry-laughing, laying on the floor, absolutely losing his shit. He doesn't know if it's the butchering of his name or the pissed off expression on your face as you sit up that makes it so funny, but goddamn, it's hilarious.

You squint around the room -- normally you can see him like Lydia can -- but you couldn't see anything that looked even remotely like it was wearing stripes.

"Hey! Jeebletuice!"

You're not aware of this, but alcohol blinds you as far as ghosts and the supernatural go. To see them requires a sharp mind, and, well...when you're drunk off your ass, your mind is about as sharp as a homemade scarf.

You scoff in annoyance. Maybe he was on a job. I dunno- wh-who cares? You do, but whatever.

You shakily stand, almost falling over but catching your balance. Look at you go! Okay, that uh, that wasn't you. Beej had used enough energy to help you stay on your feet. You're his favorite breather, and he can't have you dying. Before your time, anyway.

He's still laughing as you stumble off towards your bedroom, pretty much passing out fully dressed, above the covers, all the lights on, on your bed.

Beej gathers himself, poking you in the leg with a snicker, making sure you're alright. You twitch and groan. Yeah, you're good. Well, not good, but your meatsuit's still in working order.

"Beeeeej," you call, voice a little muffled from how your head had fallen. You sounded confused and exhausted, and -- not that he'll ever admit it -- it makes him feel pretty bad for his poor drunken...well, you.

He sits on the bed beside you, where he normally sits and "sleeps" next to you at night. If he wasn't off on a job, that is. He watches your face for a moment, contemplating drawing on your face with glow-in-the-dark ink, but you're gonna be paying for this in the morning with a headache, and he knows that. He loves to mess with you, but he has STANDARDS. Maybe.

You roll over in your sleep, (Half sleep, anyway. Boy oh, boy were you mumbling up a storm) Your arm coming to rest over his legs. 

He entertains himself by sticking little beetle stickers to your face (Only a couple. And they're tiny. He just can't help himself) until you whimper in your sleep, which, naturally, makes him feel a little bad for you. 

Normally, he's be pissed over being invisible again. But you'll sleep this off, and you'll be able to see him soon enough anyway. Jeez, he should really marry you before you go and get drunk again. 

He – without even getting up – is able to flick all the lights off and get comfortable in bed beside you – and of course, he lets you sleep. 

*** One good night's unconsiousness later...*** 

You wake in the morning with a groan, rolling over and curling up into a little ball, your head pounding. 

Well, you TRY to curl up in a ball, but there’s a person in the way. Erm, ghost. In the way. 

You almost gag on your own words when you open your mouth – but you’re able to whisper the name horsely. 

“B-beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice.” 

He meets your eye from where he’s lying. He’s in a casual pose, like he’s about to ask you to draw him like one of your French girls. 

“Hi.” 

You shoot him a look, pulling a pillow over your head. 

“Where were you last night?” You groan, trying to silence the pounding in the back of your skull. Uuuugh, you’re pretty sure you died. This is it. This is death. 

He laughs, poking you in the arm to get your attention before poofing up a glass of water in front of you. You take it, and to your shock, it’s actually not booby-trapped at all. Last time it was a trick glass and water spilled everywhere. 

The water is a welcome relief -- You had no idea how dry your lips had been. 

“I was here – it's not like I can leave unless somebody summons me or you uh,” he shoots you a lopsided grin. “Y’know, marry me.” 

You laugh, but it hurts your head to do so. 

“I’ve already agreed to marry you, dickass. I was out celebrating last night. And I tried to summon you! You just didn’t pop up.” 

I set the glass down on the nightstand, laying back down to bury my head in his chest. 

He tries to contain his snort of laughter, to no avail. 

“Y-you mean when you called out for-” More laughter, “Jeetlebuice?” He can’t help but dissolve into laughter again, and I can feel my cheeks heating up. 

“Or-Hah! Or uh, Jeebletuice. Oh my god-” 

You wiggle upwards, kissing his jaw, which is rough with stubble, before tucking your head under his chin with a low groan, his laughter one of the only sounds in the room. It was much better than the pounding in your skull, though. 

“Can you magic away my headache?” 

“I can magic away your head.” 

I weakly smack his shoulder, and he laughs again before planting a kiss to the top of my head.

"Can you kill me?" 

You, of course, don't mean it. But he plays along nonetheless. 

"Well," He sighs, rummaging around in his pocket for something. I dunno or care what it is at the moment. "I COULD kill you, but I kinda have my cold, dead heart on marrying you, being alive, all that good stuff. Plus, I JUST had my suit cleaned." A bug crawls out of his pocket, but he quickly stuffs it back inside. "Sorry, snacks -- you know. Anyway, i'd rather not get blood all over myself, if ya feel me." 

He pulls something out of his pocket, blowing on it to get what was probably dirt off of it. It looks like a pill. 

"Here ya go." 

You squint at it as you take it. It was just all loose in his pocket? "Ew. Thank you, but uh -- ew." 

He rolls his eyes as you move to sit up, reaching for the glass of water, which is somehow full again. 

"Oh, okay. You've had my dick in your mouth but now you have standards?" 

You take the pill without protest, the look on his face telling you that he was only kidding around. 

I lay back down again, not wanting to get out of bed quite yet. The silence is comfortable around us -- until i break it. 

"...Jeetlebuice, huh?" 

He laughs lightly, nodding. 

Small chuckles soon turn into full-blown laughter, until the both of you couldn't help but probably annoy the neighbors. His laughter's contagious, your laughter's contagious... what else can ya do? 

At least, even with a headache, you get to laugh at "Jeetlebuice" 

**Author's Note:**

> Jeebletuice?  
Jeetlebuice?  
Teejlebuice?  
Beejletuice?
> 
> Whatever that guy's name is, I sure do love him.


End file.
